Rhymes with Witches - Myracle Lauren - Страница 28
- Предыдущая
- 28/40
- Следующая
Anger flamed through me—anger and fear and other things, too. But instead of retaliating, I stuffed it down and walked away.
Keisha was right. Some people were boring and stupid no matter how you cut it.
Still, I couldn’t quite catch my breath. I almost wanted to go back and shove her, spill her backpack again so I could snatch a pen. Or another tub of her pointless lip balm, because who would ever want to kiss those lying lips? No one, that’s who.
She was the toad. Not me.
I put the bobby pin on Lurl’s desk, closing my mind to whom it might have once belonged. It was easier than I thought. And an hour later, as I gathered my books from my locker, I felt the spine-tingling surge that meant Lurl had claimed the offering. It filled me up and left me breathless.
That evening, after an impromptu Through the Looking Glass theme party at Sukie Karing’s house, I played back a sad-sack message from Alicia.
“Um, hi, it’s me,” she said in a snivelly voice. “I hope you’re not mad at me. I know I was really rude, but I didn’t mean to be. It’s just, what you said, it really …” She sniffed. “Anyway, I’m sorry. That’s all I wanted to say.”
The first message was followed by a second. This time I could hear Rae in the background.
“Um, hi again,” Alicia said.
Then Rae: “Tell her, Alicia. Just say the words on the paper.”
“I can’t!”
“Say it!”
Alicia came back full strength, as if she’d removed her hand from the part you speak into. “Um, sorry, Jane. That was just Rae. Anyway—”
“She hates your guts! She thinks you’re scum!”
“No, I don’t! Oh my god, Rae! Jane, I swear—”
Her voice cut off, and the machine beeped, announcing the third and last message.
“This is Rae. My sister hates your guts, even if she’s too afraid to admit it. And I do, too. Everyone does. They may not act like it on the surface, but we all know that what’s on the surface is a big, fat lie. So take that and shove it up your bunghole, you lying bitch!”
Three final beeps, then silence, except for the ticking of the oven clock.
“Psychotic freak,” I whispered.
My legs felt shaky. I hit “delete.”
Saturday night was casino night at Stuart Hill’s house. Stuart’s probation was over, and to celebrate, his parents had hired a croupier to run a blackjack table in their living room. A roulette wheel clicked and whirred in the alcove, and in the oversized den, three showgirls danced in Cleopatra headdresses and black sequined fantails.
Bitsy smooched with Ryan Overturf by the slot machine in the entry hall, then tired of his fawning and called for a Bitches meeting away from any nosy parkers. I was reluctant to leave the bar, where Nate had been showing me the impossibility of burning a cigarette hole on a twenty dollar bill laid flat against his arm. Apparently the flesh behind the bill took the heat, and sure enough, when Nate removed the bill, I could see a small red blister rising on his skin. I would have kissed it to make it better, but duty called. I trailed the others out to the patio.
“It’s ten o’clock, and already I’m knackered,” Bitsy complained.
“What about your new flame Ryan?” Mary Bryan asked. “You seemed happy enough five minutes ago.”
“Five minutes ago he hadn’t yet confessed his undying love for me,” Bitsy said. “‘Be still my heart’—he actually said those very words! Swooning about like an idiot, saying it was a dream come true. Bloody nightmare, I say!”
“You don’t want to be his dream come true?” I asked.
Bitsy rolled her eyes. She was gorgeous even when she was fed up, and in her low-cut red dress, she was every guy’s dream come true. “It was a kiss. A simple, ordinary kiss. I swear, I thought he was going to break out in song.”
“Then why’d you come on to him?” Keisha said. Tonight her dress was teal. It shimmered as she took a sip of her Diet Coke. “You knew what would happen.”
“Bloody hell,” Bitsy said. “Pammy can have him. They can slobber all over each other and leave me out of it.” She pulled a compact from her tiny red clutch and checked her makeup. She uncapped a lipstick and applied a fresh coat. “He asked me to go to the Fall Fling with him, can you believe it?” She dropped the lipstick back in her bag. “I told him sorry, but we girls are going together.”
“We are?” Mary Bryan said.
“Fine with me,” Keisha said. “L’Kardos has an away meet that weekend, anyway.”
Mary Bryan shrugged. She was dressed as a flapper, her hair swooped back in adorable pin-curl waves. “I guess it’s okay with me, too.”
They looked at me expectantly.
“Jane?” Bitsy inquired.
I smoothed my new skirt, which I’d bought with Mom’s credit card. “The thing is, I kind of already have a date. With Phil Fleischman?”
“Phil Fleischman?” Mary Bryan said.
“What?” I said. “What’s wrong with Phil?”
Bitsy smothered a laugh. “Oh, sweets. Phil may be a nice lad, but come on. He’s puny.”
My cheeks burned. “Puny” was a terrible word.
“Come with us,” Mary Bryan said. “Phil will understand.”
Bitsy looped her arm through mine. “Girl power and all that. Tell him it’s a unity thing.”
Keisha watched my face. “You don’t have to, Jane.”
“Yes, you do,” Bitsy said. “Otherwise there’d just be the three of us, and how sad would that be?”
I bit my lip. I imagined being at the Fall Fling with Phil, watching as Keisha, Bitsy, and Mary Bryan frolicked about without me. Then I imagined it the other way around, with Phil watching from the sidelines. Only he probably wouldn’t come on his own. It’s not as if he really liked school functions, anyway.
“I guess I could do something with Phil another night,” I said. I was just trying out the idea, but Bitsy squeezed my arm approvingly.
“That’s our girl,” she said. She sat down on a wicker bench and patted the cushions to show that we should join her. “And now for more pressing concerns. What in heaven’s name shall we wear?”
On our way back through the house, we were waylaid by Elizabeth Greene and several of the other cheerleaders. They were perched on one of the living room sofas, cackling at something on somebody’s laptop.
“Check it out,” Elizabeth said, grabbing Bitsy’s arm. She pulled Bitsy over and pointed midway down the screen. “Look what we put for ‘favorite movie.’”
“Bad Girls’ Dormitory,” Bitsy read. Her lips curved into a smile. “Is that the one with Alyssa Milano?”
“And for favorite Web rings, we put ‘Naughty Professors,’ ‘Prince Edward’s Lesbigay Social Club,’ and ‘Asian Sluts.’”
“Brilliant. Only she’s not Asian,” Bitsy pointed out.
“What, she’s not allowed to have a fetish?” Elizabeth said.
“Who’s not allowed to have a fetish?” Mary Bryan asked. She squeezed past me to get closer to the computer.
Until now, I’d only been half paying attention. Keisha had spotted L’Kardos slipping a bill into the bra of one of the showgirls, and she’d marched over to slap his hand. Seeing him had made me think of Nate, and I’d been scanning the dimly lit room for his lean frame.
But then Elizabeth said, “Camilla Jones,” and the back of my neck prickled. At least, I thought she said “Camilla Jones.” Did she say “Camilla Jones”?
I shook my head to clear it. “I’m sorry. Who’d you say you’re talking about?”
“For favorite music, how about this,” Elizabeth said. “Up with People, Backstreet Boys, and the Sex Pistols.”
“What about that guy who plays the pan flute?” Mary Bryan suggested.
Elizabeth giggled. She typed in, “And that guy who plays the pan flute.”
- Предыдущая
- 28/40
- Следующая
